


Cement

by weird honey (air12rice)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Prostitute Dean, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9871040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/air12rice/pseuds/weird%20honey
Summary: Dean was always okay as long as the foundation was there. Sam. A never changing constant.





	

It was a cold winter night, the street lights casting a warm glow over the blanketed white streets. Eerie silence permeated his being. He hated silence. He dove into the nearest alley and sat down on a pile of cardboard boxes. The brick walls on either side of him reeked of grease and mildew. He stared down at his wrists, and scrubbed a cold hand over them.

"Fuck."

He told them not to leave any marks. That was his policy, no physical evidence that anyone was ever there. They got a little too rough and he tried to stop them, but one of them pulled a rope out of seemingly nowhere. He's lucky they even gave him half of the money he was owed.

_I should get home._

[][][]

He fumbled for his room key for a moment before opening the door. A gust of warm air hit his face and he thanked god under his breath.

"Dean?" His brother called from the bedroom they share.

"What are you doing up?" He asked and shut the door behind him. He started to strip his wet jacket and boots off his shivering body.

"I think I like the question "What are you doing out?" better."

"I was hustling pool. We need the money."

The lie slipped easily from his lips, but fell a little flat. He hoped Sam would chock it up to exhaustion.

Sam popped his head out of the bedroom door frame. "You hear from dad yet?" He asked, hopeful.

"If I had I would've told you." He shrugged at Sam and plopped down onto the couch.

Sam walked to the kitchen and grabbed two sodas, tossing one to Dean as he sat down across from him.

"What happened to your wrists?"

"A bar fight. S'nothing."

[][][]

 

**Author's Note:**

> The things you love
> 
> You put into cement
> 
> In order to keep them
> 
> They have to be dead
> 
> You think that he's yours
> 
> But it's only in your head
> 
> His coffin is not your arms
> 
> His grave is not your bed
> 
> Cement, Nicole Dollanganger


End file.
